Bollywood Nights

by Shobhaa De

  Jay put his hand on Aasha Rani’s. “It’s OK, darling. It was bound to happen sooner or later,” he said. “You couldn’t have stayed cooped up and hidden away all your life. These are your people. They love you. They want you. How can you turn your back on them? Cheer up! Let’s go shopping.”

  She was besieged again while they were buying toys for Sasha at Hamlyn. They ran headlong into a group of Indians, who screeched, “Arrey, yeh dekho kaun hai—Aasha Rani!” and lunged toward her. They were aggressive and rude as they jostled Jay and Sasha to get closer to her. “We thought you were dead,” they said cheerfully, while Aasha Rani smiled wanly and signed slips of paper hastily pulled out of handbags.

  Later, while they were looking for wooden blocks at Mother-care, Aasha Rani thought she spotted someone familiar. She turned to have another look, to make sure. It was her, all right.

  Malini looked a little different but not much. Clad in an ill-fitting fur coat, her hair in a neat nape bun, her expression as unpleasant and severe as always. What was she doing in London? And was Akshay with her? Aasha Rani ducked into the toys section. She didn’t want to be seen.

  Malini was with another Indian woman, someone younger and obviously pregnant. A local sponsor’s wife, Aasha Rani guessed. One of those pretty Punjabi girls who’d always lived in London and dreamed of India. She was sure Malini hadn’t noticed her. She caught Jay’s arm, grabbed Sasha and hissed, “Let’s get out of here.” But the young woman saw them just as they were exiting. “Aasha Rani!” she squealed, clutching Malini’s hand. “Hey! Aasha Rani. We know it’s you!” Aasha Rani pretended she hadn’t heard and rushed out of the store and onto Oxford Street.

  She was breathing heavily when they emerged outside, and Sasha was most puzzled. “What’s the matter with Mommy?” she asked Jay worriedly. Jay comforted the child and put his arm around Aasha Rani. She pleaded, “Let’s get out of here. I’m suffocating. Please, let’s not go to India. Oh God! Why did we come here?”

  When they went back to the hotel, there were two messages for them. One was from the local TV channel, the other from Akshay. “Call him,” Jay urged. “Go on, ring him up.” “No. I don’t want to see him ever again.” But the phone rang within minutes of their getting into the room. And it was Akshay.

  “Here, take it,” Jay said, handing the receiver to her. “It’s all right. He can’t hurt you. Not after all these years. Tell him you are happy. Tell him I’m with you.”

  Aasha Rani’s hands were shaking as she picked up the receiver. She could barely say hello. Her voice sounded strange and unnatural. His too. She sensed something was wrong the moment he uttered her name. And she panicked.

  “Akshay! What’s wrong?” she demanded. There was a pause. A long one. “I’m dying,” he said to her slowly. “Don’t! Don’t say that,” she said, her voice almost a sob. “It’s true,” Akshay answered calmly. “I’m surprised it has taken this long; that’s all. Perhaps God willed it this way. Perhaps we were destined to meet for one final time. Will you come and see me? Bring your husband and daughter. Malini told me she saw all of you today. I couldn’t believe it. Now I know, it’s a miracle. All these years, I’ve been living for this moment. All through my bad days, one thought kept me going. I knew I had to see you. I couldn’t leave this world without saying good-bye.”

  Aasha Rani’s composure threatened to desert her completely. “Tell me you are lying. It’s another one of your tricks. I don’t believe what you are saying. If you are seriously ill, what was Malini doing shopping on Oxford Street?” Akshay explained patiently, “Aasha Rani, we live here now. After my last hospitalization, when the doctors in Bombay gave up on me, we decided to move to London. We have to shuttle between Geneva, Paris and here for my treatment. It is easier to maintain a base in Knightsbridge—which is where I am. The young girl you saw is Ajay’s daughter-in-law. That’s right! His son got married last year. Malini had taken her to buy some baby things. Our children are at school here too. But all this can wait. When will you come?” Aasha Rani looked at Jay and repeated the question silently. He nodded and mouthed, Tomorrow.

  When Aasha Rani replaced the receiver, she was cold and numb. Jay left her alone and kept Sasha out of her way. He knew Aasha Rani needed time. He needed it too.

  “Dying?” Aasha Rani finally asked Jay. “What could he be dying from? I don’t believe it. I just don’t. He was sick when I left India but not that sick. Or at least, I didn’t know about it.” “Sounds like cancer,” Jay said slowly. “Perhaps it was in its early stages then.” “Cancer?” Aasha Rani all but screamed. “How can Akshay get cancer? He was so fit, so healthy.”

  Aasha Rani sat still for a long time. It hadn’t sunk in. She didn’t want it to. Cancer doesn’t hit people you know, she thought. It doesn’t kill your loved ones. It happens to others. You read about it in the papers. Someone tells you about a relative who is dying of it. And that’s all. This was absurd! Jay was wrong. And Akshay was playing his usual tricks. He just wanted to see her; that was all. Maybe he wished to apologize. All things considered, he had behaved very rudely toward her. Unnecessarily so. That was it. Akshay wanted to say he was sorry. It had taken him five years to realize his mistake.

  She repeated her theory to Jay. He kept quiet for a while and then said, “No, Aasha Rani. I don’t think so. Akshay wouldn’t jest about something like this. You’d better go and find out tomorrow.” “Come with me,” Aasha Rani pleaded. “I can’t handle this on my own.” “You’re a big girl now. Of course you can handle it. Meanwhile I’ll take Sasha to see the queen.”

  AASHA RANI THOUGHT she was seeing a ghost. Akshay was virtually unrecognizable. Painfully thin and dark. Much darker than she remembered him. His voice had changed too. He spoke in a rasping croak. Aasha Rani rushed to sit by his bed. He didn’t have the energy to lift himself up. Malini stayed for a while and then left them alone. “You didn’t bring her,” Akshay whispered. “Who?” Aasha Rani asked. “Your daughter. I heard you had a daughter, a beautiful daughter. I wanted to see her.”

  Aasha Rani felt the tears stream down her face. “Sasha, her name is Sasha.”

  “Nice name,” he said. “And your husband. I wanted to meet him too.” “Jay. I mean Jamie, that’s his name.” “Yes, I’m happy for you. I really am. You look well. Different from what I remember you. What has happened to your hair? Cut it? And your clothes. I suppose you had to change, married to a phirangi and all that. How does it feel? Do you like living abroad? Tell me everything. I want to know all about your new life. Where you live. How you live. What you do. Chalo, start karo.”

  Aasha Rani spent the next two hours talking to him softly. Telling him about New Zealand and their sheep farm. He dozed off from time to time, but waved his hand weakly to say, “Go on,” when she stopped. It seemed to comfort him to hear her voice. She wanted to stroke his hair—the little that was left of it. And she wanted to bend over and kiss him. But more than anything else, she wanted, once again, to hear Amjad Ali play in the background as she sipped his wine and took a drag or two of his cigarette, staining the tip with her lipstick, wetting the filter and hearing him say irritatedly, “How many times have I told you not to touch my fags?”

  But the man lying helplessly in front of her was already far away. She wasn’t sure if he was even listening to her words. After a while he slipped into deep sleep. She bent low over Akshay and kissed his forehead and then his lips.

  He didn’t stir.

  Sudha Rani

  “LOOK, SASHA, LOOK! THAT’S YOUR AUNT—MY LITTLE SISTER—Sudha! God! She’s splashed everywhere! And that’s Amar—old chikna face. They seem to be monopolizing every hoarding in Bombay,” said Aasha Rani excitedly as they drove down to the Sea Rock Sheraton.

  So Amma had pulled it off. Sudha—or Sudha Rani, as the hoardings screamed—had made it! Sudha Rani—what a name. Must have been Kishenbhai’s idea, she thought to herself, vastly amused.

  Aasha Rani felt herself relax as the familiar sights of Bombay slippe
d by. She hadn’t been looking forward to this and had begun feeling apprehensive right at Heathrow.

  But the moment she stepped out of Santa Cruz airport she had felt the tension draining away. Aasha Rani’s homecoming had coincided with Holi, and that had added to her delight. But Jay lost all his enthusiasm for India the moment they stepped out of the plane and somebody threw gulal on him. Sasha, too, fell back in fright.

  “Bloody buggers. I hate the bloody stuff. I remember it from my early trips to India. Grandfather used to enjoy himself and join the natives. But my parents and I—not us. We hated getting all that muck on ourselves. Tell these rogues to get lost before I sock one of them,” he had snarled as a group of revelers had come toward him with fistfuls of colored powder.

  “It’s nothing,” Aasha Rani had assured both of them. “It won’t hurt. We can wash it off when we get to the hotel.” But Sasha had hid behind her father and covered her face, while Jay had tried in vain to shoo them off. “It’s Holi,” Aasha Rani had kept repeating. “This is all a part of the celebrations. These people don’t mean any harm. They are only trying to get you to join in. Go on, be a sport; all they want to do is put a dot of red on your forehead. They’ll go away after that.”

  Jay had reluctantly bent down and waited for one of the men to put a tikka between his brows. “Barbarians,” he had muttered under his breath. “Drunk buggers! What is this crazy festival about, anyway? I remember seeing your bloody films with you cavorting around in filthy clothes and lots of filthy color on your face.”

  Aasha Rani had laughed at his discomfort. “Don’t ask me complicated questions. Read your guidebook. We are in India now. We are home. Holi is our spring festival. You’ll see all the fishing boats when we pass my favorite village. They’ll have bright new flags over their masts. From today the seas will be safe for sailing till the horrible monsoon.”

  Jay had been even more hassled when it came to getting a cab. “Where are all the taxis?” he had asked sharply.

  “They’re probably celebrating Holi. Most cars stay off the streets today. Sometimes the crowds can get a little aggressive,” Aasha Rani had tried to explain. “Well, thanks a lot. I suppose we couldn’t have picked another day.” Jay had been barely able to disguise his irritation. “I used to love Holi,” Aasha Rani had told him. “The industry always celebrated it in a big way. In fact, the biggest all-day party used to be at Akshay’s bungalow. The entire industry would come there and fool around. Akshay would fill his swimming pool with colored water, and everybody would be thrown into it on arrival. Have you ever drunk bhang? I tell you, it gives a bigger kick than tequila. You should try it. People drink bhang on holiday. It’s some kind of a milk-based drink with lots of pistachios and nuts made into a paste and dissolved in it.”

  “Since when have people started getting drunk on milk and nuts?” Jay had asked petulantly.

  “Oops, did I forget to mention the ground marijuana leaves and the copper coin? It’s the coin that gives the kick,” Aasha Rani had said, trying to amuse him. “Sounds exciting,” Jay had said, sounding most unconvinced. “It is fun when you are with the right people. I used to look forward to Holi parties. In fact, on the night before Holi I always made it a point to go to the fishing village in Bandra and join the people there as they danced around a huge bonfire. Their food was delicious. I’ll take you there sometime.” “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass.”

  They had finally found a cab, and as they had neared Bandra the hoardings with Sudha gracing them had started sprouting. The sight set off a train of memories, and Aasha Rani attempted to revive her sullen audience with stories of the days when she was the star attraction at filmland Holi celebrations.

  “In our time, promising newcomers were also invited, along with the top heroes and heroines. It was a good occasion for them to meet everybody in an informal atmosphere. Big producers kept a lookout for fresh talent. There was so much music and dancing, it was always easy to spot someone who had the makings of a future star,” Aasha Rani explained excitedly. “Can you imagine all of us, drenched to the skin, wearing clinging white clothes—at least, they used to be white to start with—and then dancing the bhangra and discoing on the lawns with all those important people ogling us? Amma used to come with me and force me to go on dancing alone, even after the others had stopped. All the magazines used to carry my solo pictures because I was the best!” “I bet you were,” Jay said, and gazed out of the window onto the highway. “God! It’s getting worse by the year, isn’t it?” he said. “Look at all those squatters. Look at those slums! Filthy! Was it always this bad?” “To my eyes it looks just the same. Maybe we get used to the crowds and the dirt. I don’t really mind. Look how happy the people seem. Look at all those kids throwing color and enjoying themselves,” Aasha Rani said as she looked out.

  “Yes, they’re having so much fun, they’re likely to get run over by all the trucks speeding by,” Jay said darkly.

  “Oh, go on. These children grow up on the streets. They know how to take care of themselves.”

  But even Aasha Rani had to admit that Bombay looked shabbier and dirtier. Even while the aircraft had been poised over the runway, awaiting permission to land, Aasha Rani had stared aghast at the proliferation of shantytowns all along the edge of the airport boundary walls. She’d noticed the satellite townships of Bombay with thousands of ugly housing complexes arranged mechanically in cramped squares, the buildings with peeling distemper and rusting water tanks on the roofs. Such a depressing sight, especially the mountains of uncleared, rotting garbage dotting the suburban thoroughfares, dense hutment colonies along open drains and—the most amazing sight of all—hundreds of TV antennae like metallic skeletons atop one-room tenements fabricated out of gunnysacks, corrugated sheets, plywood and assorted rags. Bombay was squalor at its most advanced.

  “Mommy, why are all the children naked? Don’t they have clothes? Why are they so dark and thin?” Sasha asked her. “Well, darling, that’s because they are poor.” “What’s ‘poor,’ Mommy?” And Aasha Rani had realized for the first time that her daughter was a foreigner to India. And she had no one to blame but herself. It was she who had insulated her and protected her. Not wanted her to know about her mother’s country. Or her mother’s past. Jay exchanged glances with his wife and said, “You answer that. You tell her what’s ‘poor.’”

  WHEN THEY REACHED their hotel Aasha Rani wasn’t sure she should phone Amma. Ever since London, she had heard stray rumors of how Amma had vilified her after she’d fled Bombay. Perhaps it would be best not to reestablish contact. It was Jay who was insistent. “It’s been so many years. Come on, she’s your mother, after all. And it’s important for Sasha to get to know her grandma and other relatives. We can’t go on cutting her out of our lives like this. Besides, I thought the whole idea of coming here was for you to reestablish contact with your family.”

  Aasha Rani, as it turned out, didn’t have to make the first move. Kishenbhai phoned her “on Amma’s behalf.” Aasha Rani was faintly irritated by that. “Why couldn’t she call herself?” she asked. “Jaaney do. We are all happy that you are here. We read it in the evening papers.” “What papers?” Aasha Rani demanded. “I didn’t talk to anybody. Nobody knew I was coming here.” “Maybe. But some reporter saw you at the airport. He was there to photograph a minister who was also returning from London—same flight—and a few members of the cricket team after their England series. He recognized you and phoned the papers. Also, your London trip was reported here. You must’ve met Indians there; see, the public doesn’t forget that fast. Your fans still want you back. I get calls, many calls…if you are interested.”

  “Don’t be silly. When I quit films, I quit permanently,” Aasha Rani said, dismissing the idea of joining films again. “But tell me—how’s Amma? And Sudha? And everybody else?”

  “Great lady, memsahibji, why don’t you come and find out for yourself?” Kishenbhai said. “Amma will prepare hot-hot uttapams and kaapi for all of you. Then
I’ll give you the news—everything. Bachchi kaisi hai?” “Achchi hai,” Aasha Rani said. “How did you know about Sasha?” “Arrey, don’t worry. We get to know everything sitting here. We have our spies.”

  Aasha Rani smiled to herself. Some things never change, she thought. Indian inquisitiveness is like Indian slums. Nothing is private. Nobody has a right to secrets, especially in a family. It was such a contrast from the world of white men. It was only when she got back to India that it struck her how much of an alien she was in New Zealand. She had tried to adapt, adjust and accept. And she thought she had succeeded. Now, back in familiar territory, she realized just how far her self-delusion had gone. No. She didn’t belong there. This was home. And home was Holi and Diwali and fisherfolks with gaily painted boats beckoning her to join them as they lurched drunkenly around a gigantic bonfire—lit in the same manner, year after year, over several centuries, to commemorate the destruction of the demoness Holika. Aasha Rani couldn’t wait to meet her people. To catch up with all the news.

  The news of Aasha Rani’s marriage had sent shock waves through Bombay. Amma had been the worst affected. “How dare she?” Amma had asked Kishenbhai, her voice choked with rage. “That girl has let us all down. What am I to say to her producers? What about all the pending contracts? Who will dub for her? Finish the incomplete films? Wretch! I always knew that she would ruin me one day. Ruin all the plans I’ve been making for her all these years. First, she disappears with someone else’s husband. Then she marries a strange man. A white man. What about his character? Who is he? Chhee, chhee—must be eating beef. Now she’ll never be able to enter our home, our temple. She is defiled. I refuse to call her my daughter. She has betrayed my faith in her. If anybody from the press phones, put them on to me. I’ll be happy to give interviews and tell everybody what sort of a daughter I gave birth to—a witch, a demon woman. Seven generations of sin have led to this fate. I ask God, what have I done in my past lives to deserve such a daughter? I cannot show my face in Madras. What shall I tell Appa? Viji has disgraced us all. I should have known from the beginning.” Kishenbhai had tried to console her by saying, “At least she must be happy.” “Happy?” Amma had snorted. “That girl will never be happy. My curse is upon her.”